


Saudade

by slasher48



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Depositions, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slasher48/pseuds/slasher48
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>saudade</i> - describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. It often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return. It's related to the feelings of longing, yearning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saudade

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Fiction. Fan fiction. Based upon what was created by: fans of the Facebook story who turned it into a book, and the fans of that book who turned it into a movie, and the fans of that movie who turned it into one sexy man pining after an equally sexy man (or vice versa).
> 
> Written for the Winter TSN-A-THON. A BILLION DOLLARS ISN’T COOL, YOU KNOW WHAT’S COOL? TEAM PARKER.

 [Now]

It’s a broken record routine, the kind Mark almost never gets into anymore.

Five minutes of his time a year—that’s all it takes. Five minutes with plastic against his ear and a pain he lets himself feel for just long enough.

He cries sometimes, but always silently.

He mouths  _I’m sorry_  at no one, at nothing; just the whirs of a few computers and the rumble of the heater to accompany him.

He never types—won’t perpetrate that sound.

He wants to, wants to code until he’s deaf to anything and everything.

But it’d be more recognizable than his voice, his fingers on the keyboard.

Of course, he might already be exposed.

Dustin says that he’s stupid for doubting that—nobody can be unintelligent enough not to have figured it out by now.

Chris rubs his head, says that this annual self-inflicted misery affects everyone and Mark should know that, at this point.

His mother doesn’t know.

He’s never going to tell her.  She psychoanalyzes him  _enough_  when he’s home to see his sisters.

He lost a girlfriend this way. He couldn’t explain himself to her and she left.

He maybe could have gotten her back.

It wasn’t worth the effort. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been a great guy to her otherwise.

But he didn’t know why he does this.

He  _doesn’t_  know why.

(Privately, he guesses at it, but never with enough intent to see the guessing game through.)

\---

“Hello?”

“…Uh, are you there?”

“This is Eduardo, if…that’s who you meant to call.”

“If there’s something wrong with your phone and you’re trying to talk to me, hit a button, okay? I’ll figure it out. Looks like an American number and sometimes my phone drops those calls.”

“No, but really, who are you?”

“Wait…wait, you’re the same person who calls every year, aren’t you.”

“I think that five years of this is getting to be creepy—if you’re still that person. I should call some sort of authority. I used to be in danger of being kidnapped, you know. …oh my God, are you tracing this?”

“Can’t you just say something so I know, at least, that you’re not going to…ransom me or something?”

“Really, though, I’m getting a little pissed off. I’m going to hang up if nobody’s going to talk.”

“Who would call me…but not want me to know who they are…”

“…Oh God. Mark?”

“Mark, if this is you…”

“Please, Mark.”

“I…I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“There’s nowhere we can go with this if you won’t even  _speak_  to me.”

“…Goodbye, Mark.”

\---

The sigh before the farewell punches the air out of Mark.

It’s the first time Wardo’s used his name since the depositions.

He’s used to  _Mr. Zuckerberg_  in that same cool voice.

Not  _Mark_  in the  _I was your only friend_  tone, broken and upset.

He pushes the disposable phone away from him.

Five minutes. It’s been three.

He’ll give himself the rest of the time to recover.

It’s harder, with Wardo aware of—and hurt by—who he is.

But he manages it, just the same.

It’s part of the routine, remembering and aching over it and missing something loved.

Then pushing away all of that and returning to his life.

There’s nowhere they can go, Eduardo had said.

Nothing they can do.

Nothing they can be.

He’s right.

Mark wipes his eyes, stares blearily at his computer.

_12:05 AM_.  1/2012.

A new year—his seventh, without Wardo.

He shakes his head and opens up the black screen.

He can probably finish the new layout tonight if he’s lucky.

\/

[Then]

“Wardo.”

“ _Mark.”_

Wardo is smiling. Mark guesses it must be the holiday, because where they are—standing in the snow outside his house while everyone follows the stupid New Year’s Eve traditions Mark would rather avoid inside—there’s really nothing to smile about.

It also may be the champagne Wardo drank in gaping mouthfuls.

“You’re cold, aren’t you?”

Wardo grins and shakes his head and moves closer.

Mark is confused, until suddenly he’s warming up and he looks down.

Wardo’s wrapped half of his coat—impeccably tailored like everything else he owns; he’s going to stretch it out trying to fit two people—around Mark.

Mark stays where he is.

He may have drank a bit of champagne himself.

Wardo shivers and Mark smirks. He should have thought of how cold Mark’s skin was before he did what he did.

Mark leans against Wardo. He’s like a furnace; it’s almost like Brazil is trapped in his skin or something.

“It’s going to be 2003 soon, Mark. What do you want to do with this year?”

Mark looks at him almost as flatly as he speaks, on purpose.

“…Code. Create something else. Maybe take the money this time, show some of those idiot professors how wrong they are.”

“You don’t really care about the professors, Mark.” Wardo nudges against his shoulder. His eyes are big, shiny like he’s laughing with Mark.

Mark isn’t laughing.

“Well, either way, it might be nice to be recognized more. For how good I am. ‘Cause I am, Wardo. I’m better than anyone in class.”

Wardo’s eyes get…heavy, is a good word for it. Mark wonders if he’s sleepy. That much champagne can knock you the fuck out.

“I think you’re a genius, Mark.”

“I know, Wardo.” Mark rolls his eyes a little, but he might be smiling.

“You know what else?”

Wardo’s fully against him now, whispering even though there’s nobody else to hear him. It’s weird, a little, but nice. He’s warming up totally now, and with Wardo speaking so directly to him, he almost can’t hear the buzz of chanting coming from inside the house.

They’re forehead to forehead, and Mark knows this is a little gay, but there’s no one to call him on it.

And he doesn’t want to miss whatever Wardo’s going to say with that particular expression.

It’s a really confusing expression, okay.

Whatever.

“ _What_ , Wardo.”

Wardo kind of licks a little messily against his ear—kind of gross, actually—but he gets it out.

“You’re my favorite.”

Mark blinks and leans back, because Wardo  _has_  to be fucking with him. It’s not the first time; he has a wicked sense of humor that he uses on Mark a lot, because he wouldn’t dare with anybody else.

(Mark maybe laughs at it more than Dustin did—when he heard, that one time. That might be why, too.)

“Your—Wardo? Favorite wha—”

Wardo cuts him off with a kiss.

It’s sweet, flavored with champagne and suffocating in its warmth and comfort. Mark’s nose tickles a little because both of their mouths taste bubbly.

Something more than ticklish runs along the edge of his spine, down into his belly.

Wardo even  _tongues_  him before he pulls away, grinning hugely like Mark just gave him a present.

(Maybe something about the weather. Mark almost bought him this high-tech measuring…thing. But Wardo got him a gift card to his favorite tech store in New York, so Mark stuck with a nice leather address book. Way less embarrassing.)

“What. Wardo, what  _was_ that?”

“You kiss your favorite on New Year’s Eve, Mark.”

It’s logic—drunk person logic, yeah, and it works on Mark. It’ll work just enough to keep this from getting awkward, and he and Wardo are still in his house for a few days more.

Plus Kirkland. Wardo’s always there and things can’t get weird.

“…Thanks. We should like…walk or something. Till you’re sober.”

Mark almost trips over his sneaker when Wardo jumps up, puppy-ish.

“Let’s go, then!”

Only as they walk away from the window does he realize nobody’s chanting anymore.

It’s a new year.

Mark looks at Eduardo fumbling next to him, way more graceless than usual, and smirks to himself.

Wardo’s mouth’s all swollen.

Maybe that should be one of the traditions Mark gets to keep.

(It’s a thought he’s never going to admit he had. No matter how long their friendship lasts.)

(…Privately, he hopes it lasts long enough that he forgets to keep it quiet.)


End file.
